


Ragnarson

by astheykissconsume



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 01:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astheykissconsume/pseuds/astheykissconsume
Summary: Ragnar is somewhere in the void between boy and man when his father takes a liking to a vicious little Saxon and decides to keep him.





	Ragnarson

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by TV series The Last Kingdom. Because we all need more Ragnarson brother love in our lives.

Ragnar is somewhere in the void between boy and man when his father takes a liking to a vicious little Saxon and decides to keep him. 

Father says the child can serve them, and he does, in a fashion. He’s got an attitude, which makes him funny without intending to be; he scowls when he’s given orders, stomps about and sulks when reprimanded. He asks Ragnar to teach him how to fight and seems offended when Ragnar scoffs in his face. 

Father calls him slave and tuts when he and his fellow slave Brida take to playing with Thyra, but Ragnar knows better. He can see the fondness developing in Father’s eyes and knows what’s going to happen before it does. When Father goes off with Ubba to sell the child back to his family for a ransom, Ragnar is utterly unsurprised when, instead of returning with a hefty bag of silver, Father returns with the child riding before him on his horse. The boy looks pleased, if a little bewildered, and there is a certain peace in Father’s face that Ragnar has not seen for a while.

“He is to be your brother,” Father tells him. “Look after him.” 

Ragnar eyes the Saxon brat consideringly and smirks a bit at the defiant look he receives in return. 

Thyra is delighted, of course: her playmate has returned to her, for good this time. As the weeks pass and the boy settles into his new life, their games develop into intricate worlds of kings and queens and warriors. Ragnar can see a new joy in his sister’s face at having friends her own age to play with, and he finds he can’t begrudge any of it. The girl slave is quiet, at least in front of him, but Thyra seems to enjoy her company. Thyra calls the boy brother with an eagerness that makes Ragnar smile; he loves his sister dearly, but the distance in age between them has stopped them being playmates to each other. 

Ragnar has never been the jealous type. Even if he had been, his new brother is a child, and he is nearly a man; the gulf between them is too wide for petty divisions like resentment. 

Anyway, the more he gets to know the child the more baffled he is that the boy ever lived in a pious Saxon world. Since their first meeting he has known him to be hot-headed, but there is a wildness in him that is pure Dane. It is not something they have instilled within him – it is his nature. The boy has Saxon blood but a Danish heart, and Ragnar finds it is not difficult to grow fond of him. 

Uhtred. That is his name. He is Uhtred Ragnarson. 

As the months pass, Uhtred worms his way so completely into their life that Ragnar cannot fully remember how it felt to be the only son. It is like having a small, mouthy shadow; Uhtred follows him around given half the chance, asking questions about anything and everything. It’s clear he’s trying to find out as much as he can about life as a Dane. He rolls his eyes but tolerates the chatter, and doesn’t give voice to the thought that Uhtred is more Dane than many Viking-born youngsters Ragnar has met. 

Father has had him wearing furs and leathers like a Dane since he first took him on, but Uhtred’s desire to fit in stretches far beyond his clothes. He picks up their words, begins to adopt their accent. Ragnar catches him trying to plait Thyra’s hair in the usual style with great determination but absolutely no skill – he’s made a mess of Thyra’s lovely red hair, but their kind-hearted sister has not complained. Ragnar rolls his eyes and comes up behind Uhtred, laying his hands down over the boy’s to still them. Uhtred’s hands look absurdly small beneath Ragnar’s, but the boy himself is taking no notice; he’s craning his head back to stare up at Ragnar questioningly. There’s a defensiveness in his face that makes Ragnar grin. 

He sits down and beckons for Uhtred to follow. Uhtred does, facing Ragnar; Ragnar shakes his head and reaches out, turning him bodily so that Uhtred’s back is to him. 

He knows what Uhtred wants. Thyra was just the unfortunate recipient of his attentions. 

Ragnar learnt this particular skill years ago, when he was Uhtred’s age (though perhaps not Uhtred’s size, because Uhtred is barely bigger than Thyra and Ragnar is fairly sure he was at least a head taller at their age). He sweeps Uhtred’s hair into one hand and rakes his fingers through it, shaking his head when a twig falls free of the dark locks, and begins to sort a section of the hair into strands to be plaited. Uhtred squirms. 

“Sit still,” Ragnar says absently.

Uhtred sits still for approximately thirty seconds. Then he begins to fidget again, his head twitching sideways as though he longs to turn around to try to see what Ragnar is doing. 

“Uhtred,” Ragnar says exasperatedly. Watching them, Thyra giggles. 

“I want it to look like yours,” Uhtred says. 

Ragnar stills. He glances down at the braid between his fingers, as dark as his own is fair. 

“I can do that,” he says. And he does. 

-

As Uhtred grows, so does his bold nature. He loves to compete, which is ridiculous, because he never wins, but this does not discourage him. He challenges Ragnar to arm wrestles and races on horseback, insists that he can eat quicker or drink faster and then inevitably chokes when he tries. Ragnar calls him Uhtred the Stupid and puts him in a headlock, and Uhtred shrieks at him and batters at him ineffectively with fists that wish they were ten times more powerful than they are.

Still, he can learn. He definitely wants to. He begs Father for a sword of his own (Father laughs in his face and tells him that he did not pay a extortionate ransom just so Uhtred could cut off his fingers). 

A year or so after Father made him Ragnarson, Uhtred gets his wish. Ragnar tosses a wooden sword in his direction and tells him to meet him in the field behind their homestead. Uhtred nearly trips over himself in his eagerness to follow him out. Feeling indulgent, Ragnar pretends not to see. 

If there is one thing that Uhtred possesses, it is a stubborn refusal to back down in any situation. This proves as true as ever when it comes to fighting. It does not matter how many times he gets knocked down – he bounces right back up again, twice as determined. He is a surprisingly good student when it comes to this and Ragnar finds that he enjoys teaching him. What’s more, he enjoys spending time with him, passing along what he knows. Uhtred listens intently to what he has to say; he copies Ragnar’s actions with a carefulness he rarely displays elsewhere. It makes warmth settle in Ragnar’s chest.

Later, as they sit side-by-side for the family meal, Ragnar glances at the dark head at his shoulder and feels the first of a protectiveness that will last his lifetime. 

Brother, he thinks, little brother. 

The first time Uhtred manages to get in a good hit during his training, whacking Ragnar on the back of the legs and sending him staggering, Ragnar roars with pain and then with laughter. Half kneeling, he grabs Uhtred by the back of his neck and pulls him in, bumping the boy’s forehead against his own. 

Uhtred is beaming. He has seen Father perform this gesture with Ragnar, has seen their mother press tender touches to Thyra’s face. He knows what it means – it means family, and all the affection and pride and love that comes with it. 

-

Ragnar goes away to find his wealth and returns intermittently. He is away for months and sometimes for years. His wealth grows. When the chance arises, he makes time to visit his family; Mother always clasps him tight and he rides out alongside Father on hunting trips, and sees for himself the pride in Father’s eyes. He is happy. 

His siblings are always there when he returns, often with Brida by their side. He sees them grow in fits and starts and hears of their exploits with varying degrees of accuracy (Thyra the truth-teller, Uhtred the exaggerator). 

After a particularly long absence, Ragnar returns to find that the three children he left behind are no more. Instead, three youths wait for him a hill away from the homestead. 

He dismounts and embraces Thyra, kissing her cheek. Brida is eyeing his horse with an eagerness that speaks plainly of a love for roaming free. Uhtred is scuffing the ground, skulking behind the girls and avoiding Ragnar’s eye.

Ragnar helps Brida up onto his horse; she takes the reins with open glee. He hoists Thyra up behind her and the girls ride home, their hair streaming behind them as Brida digs her heels in to pick up speed. Their laughter is audible even as they disappear over the brow of the hill.

Ragnar turns to Uhtred. “Well then, little brother,” he says. “Nothing to say to me?”

Uhtred looks at him, at last. There’s a hint of caution in his gaze, as though he has forgotten how to speak to Ragnar, or perhaps worries that Ragnar has forgotten how to speak to him. Ragnar has been gone for two years, this time. The last time they saw each other Uhtred was still on the tipping point of childhood, and Ragnar treated him as such. 

Ragnar thinks of the wild boy with twigs in his hair with the constant stream of questions and looks at the young man before him. Uhtred is broad-shouldered, now, his face angular, and he holds himself with the poise of a young warrior. His eyes are the same as they ever have been.

He need not worry. Ragnar is quite sure that whatever fate throws their way, however long they spend apart, there will never come a time when he does not know exactly how to be with Uhtred. 

“I never thought to see you lost for words,” he says, amused. 

Uhtred’s hand flies out to punch Ragnar’s arm, the gesture automatic – a built-in response from years of living as siblings. Ragnar laughs and shoves him in return, then pulls Uhtred in. 

Their foreheads bump. For all Uhtred’s growth, Ragnar still has to dip his head to meet Uhtred’s, and he thinks he always will. He does not mind. Uhtred is his little brother, after all.


End file.
